


Open

by emoviolent



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Beating, Broken Bones, Brotherly Bonding, Bullying, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Other, Sports, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emoviolent/pseuds/emoviolent
Summary: "If you hate it so much, you should stop trying.""Unlike you, I would prefer to not fail the semester.""Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, pushover."The Way brothers are bad at sports.
Relationships: Gerard Way & Mikey Way
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Open

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration not-so-subtly stolen from brother sport by animal collective.

"Gee, are you okay?" Mikey had seen the ball bounce off the rim of the net, slamming into a wall and landing directly on his brother's face. Gerard didn't scream as the basketball hit him and fell unceremoniously, first looking confused before becoming profoundly upset when he saw the drops of crimson dripping down his face and onto his shirt and the gymnasium floor. Coach Stanley was kind enough to let Mikey get some ice out of his mini fridge and he rushed over to Gerard, ready to help. Unfortunately Gerard didn't want it; he never wants his help with these sort of things. 

Mikey pressed an ice cube to Gerard's nose, thin fingers trembling with the fear of hurting his brother. Agitated, Gerard snatched the ice cube from Mikey's hand and popped it into his mouth, swallowing it whole as Mikey watched with large eyes. He didn't want to be taken care of; he wanted out of this miserable class, this miserable school, this miserable town, this miserable life. He wanted it all gone so badly he could just scream.

"Gee?" Mikey's voice sounded tinny and muddy, like Gerard was listening to a fuzzy radio station or had water in his ears. 

"What?" Gerard snarled.

"You're crying. I think you should go to the nurse." Mikey scratched at the medical tape wrapped around his wrist, knobby knees pressed together in an attempt to stop himself from visibly shaking. He pursed his lips and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I think it's broken."

Sometimes Gerard wished Mikey would just snap. He tried to push his emotions back and remain neutral, and if that wasn't an option he made himself as weak as possible by asking for permission to do what needed to be done. He wished Mikey wasn't such a fucking coward. Maybe that would make his beatings more far and in between. He'd put up less with Gerard being so bratty and whiny too, would finally tell him he's being an asshole and needed to stop complaining about stupid things. Often Gerard could see the rage swirling in his eyes behind his glasses, dark and heated, pupils blown wide. Mikey just needed an extra push and one day he'd finally stand up for himself when it was too much.

"Of course I'm crying. That fucking meathead bashed my nose in with a fucking basketball." Gerard sniffed, drawing some of the blood back into his nostrils before it dribbled back out and down his lips and chin. "I can take myself. It isn't like the nurse is going to do anything beside give me an ice pack and painkillers. Probably isn't even that bad." Gerard knew it was bad. He'd heard the telltale crack when the ball made contact with his face and the agonizing pain blossoming through his sinuses- his nose surely was broken and would have to be set. He wasn't looking forward to it because that meant more pain and a strict regiment of antibiotics and cleaning, not to mention that his face was going to be bruised for days to come. 

This was going to _suck._

_*_

"Off the field, Way!"

"I can do better," Mikey insisted, staggering towards the ball as it rolled between dozens of cleated feet. His previous attempts at making a goal had been fruitless endeavors. The goalie caught the ball, a player from the other team stole it or he simply didn't aim as well as he thought he had and missed entirely. A teammate had elbowed him in the temple of his forehead, breaking his glasses, temporarily knocking him out for a couple of minutes and leaving him with a migraine from hell. His vision blurred and he began to see in doubles but he couldn't give up yet. Everyone thought he was useless as a teammate and groaned when he was placed on their team. No one wanted the scrawny bespectacled mousy-haired kid on their team when there were countless other boys who were stronger and more skilled in the sport. Mikey knew he was the bottom of the food chain. He had to prove them wrong, just this once, so they'd understand that he was trying.

He wove between his teammates to chase the ball, kicking it towards the goal. His head pounded and his stomach lurched but he refused to stop. He refused to let people think he was weak. He knew he was smaller than the other boys - too skinny with not enough muscle - but he had height and speed on his side. He couldn't really use that to his advantage while playing flag football or wrestling but at least soccer was a strong suit, even if he hated it.

The ball made it to the goal, narrowly missing the goalie's gloved hands and hitting the back of the white knitted net. He did his part. He could stop now. Mikey fell onto his side, letting out a rasping breath as his eyes rolled back into his head. A couple of his teammates rushed over, accompanied by the coach. At least he could say he gave something to the team.

*

Beneath both of Gerard's eyes was black. His nose was wrapped in gauze and had to be redressed every couple of hours to clean the stitches and apply ointment. It had been broken but luckily the bone only split and was able to be put back in place. Gerard told Mikey that he'd blacked out when it happened because it hurt so fucking much. He wasn't worried about being ugly; he knew he wasn't the most handsome guy. He was too pale, too pudgy and his face was too round to appeal to any of the girls. All of the boys were straight and picked on him. He couldn't win so he was fine with having a fucked up nose, at least for the time being. The doctor said he was lucky it didn’t bend the wrong way when it was crushed. It hurt nonetheless. 

Mikey hissed as he pressed the ice pack to his forehead, closing his eyes and swallowing back rising bile. "You should have gotten off the field when they told you to," Gerard said flatly. He turned a page in his comic and took a sip of his Coke. "I dunno why you think you gotta be a hero. You're not Jesus. There is no salvation to come if you sacrifice yourself."

Turning to his brother, Mikey replied in just as dead of a tone, "It's not about getting the admiration or love of others. Not every action is meant to be a chance to suck yourself off."

Gerard turned red at that. Setting his jaw and placing the graphic novel down, he said, "Well, what was the reason for you continuing anyway? What's with you and sports period? I thought you hated them."

"I do."

"If you hate it so much, you should stop trying."

"Unlike you, I would prefer to not fail the semester."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, pushover." 

Mikey's upper lip twitched at that. "I'm not being a pushover. I just don't want to be forced to repeat the tenth grade over a bad grade in gym class. That's so stupid." 

Gerard noticed Mikey’s change in demeanor and perked up a bit. _Finally_ , he thought to himself. _He grows a spine_. He’d never heard Mikey voice his opinion before. Their parents thought that was a sign of being polite — Gerard saw it as weakness. Mikey would just agree with whatever Gerard said or not answer at all. He wore his stoic demeanor like a mask to hide himself, opposite of Gerard’s using his teenage angst to deflect from his own personal hurt. In a way, Mikey really was an inverse of him.   
  


That didn’t fair well with Gerard. He sunk back in his seat and picked up his comic book, skimming the colorful pages but not absorbing anything he read. 

+  
  


Mikey broke a cup. Gerard found him crouched in the kitchen, carefully picking up shattered pieces of glass. He watched as his brother’s fingers were cut, blood beading on his fingertips and palms as he worked to clean up his mess as best as he could. Mikey looked up, face plain and unaffected as he flatly asked, “Can you please pass me the broom?” It barely sounded like a question at all.

”Everything looks fine to me,” Gerard replied as he stepped over Mikey and opened the door to the fridge. “You grabbed everything already.”

”I picked up what I could see,” Mikey corrected. His eyes had that glint in them again, full of annoyance bordering on anger. Good. Gerard wanted a fight.

“I’ll just grab it myself.” Mikey threw the broken glass into the trash can and grabbed the broom. His blood smeared on the handle as he futile swept. When he came near Gerard, he softly said, “I need you to move, Gee.”

Gerard grabbed a can of soft drink from one of the door’s shelves — some Coke knockoff — and shut the door with his hip. “There’s nothin’ left to sweep.”

”Just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” How poignant of him.

”I think I’ll stay here.” Gerard popped the lid on his drink and took a long slurping sip, eyeing Mikey as he swallowed. He smiled smugly as he watched his brother’s pupils dilate as his face drained of all color. 

Mikey grit his teeth and gripped the broom. A trickle of blood ran down the wooden handle. “Gerard, move.”

With a wide grin, Gerard said, “Make me.” 

He didn’t expect a punch in the stomach. It didn’t even register until he was doubled over on the kitchen floor, drink spilled and can forgotten as Mikey wrapped a hand into his hair and used the other to grab his shirt. Mikey pulled into the living room, throwing him onto the couch with a dull thud. Gerard watched in awe as Mikey stood over him, chest heaving, face flushed and glasses askew. For such a small guy, he was surprisingly strong. Gerard was actually scared but couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. 

“I’m getting sick of you,” Mikey said. “All you do is whine about everything and never make any effort. Do you enjoy being sad?”

Gerard stared at Mikey with wide eyes.

“Do you want to make me as miserable as you? Is that it? Do you need everyone to be depressed with you so you feel better, or is it just me?” When Gerard pursed his lips in response, Mikey screamed, “Answer me!”

”I don’t know,” Gerard mumbled out.

“You are such a fucking asshole. I’m done. Just... stay out of my way.” Mikey took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his jeans, palms sticky with drying blood. 

Gerard has no idea where the courage came from but the words spilled without warning. “You already are just as sad as I am because I’m all you’ve got. We’re the same.” 

That landed him a punch in the jaw, to which he responded with a resounding smack across Mikey’s face. Both boys went tumbling to the floor, rolling across the carpet like wild animals. There was no rhyme or reason to their movements other than brutality for brutality’s sake. They clawed and bit at each other, breaking skin and leaving bruises and bite marks in their wake.

Mikey finally got Gerard into a chokehold, straddling and pinning him to the carpet and staring at him with such vigorous anger that he felt genuinely fearful. His eyes watered as his chest drew tight and his lungs shuddered from lack of air. He attempted to mouth something at Mikey but no sound came; his windpipe was being thoroughly crushed. Mikey wanted to silence him the way that Gerard had done since the seventh grade, and Gerard was sure he deserved it.

Still, Gerard stuttered out a sound. “S-ssss...” 

“Shut up.”

”S...”

”Shut up!”

”Sorry...” Gerard’s face was wet and his body felt like an open wound, raw and throbbing. 

Mikey’s expression crumbled and his grip faltered before entirely loosening. He pulled his hands away from Gerard’s throat, gasping at the sight of already darkening flesh.

Gerard drew in a sharp breath before coughing violently, turning onto his side and knocking Mikey over as he vomited onto the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he repeated through heaving sobs and wet retching. “I’m sorry.” 

Mikey allowed Gerard to vomit and catch his breath, sitting next to him. They both looked utterly disheveled, faces red with fresh bruises and scratches, lips bloody and cheeks and eyes swelling. A bit of blood dribbles from Gerard’s mouth with his spit and vomit.

There was some sort of unspoken mutual understanding between them. Gerard got up and scrubbed his vomit from the carpet. Mikey mopped the mess in the kitchen. And Gerard didn’t yell at Mikey for cleaning his wounds and applying bandages and ointments, even though it burned when he used the bactine on the cut that formed on the bridge of his nose. They sat on the couch in silence for a few moments, staring at the television’s blank screen. Then Mikey spoke:

“I’m sorry too.” 


End file.
